Of Flesh and Void
by Sam Seven
Summary: [Day 6 of the DBH Rare Peers Week: Crossover] On September 23, 2136, the psychologist Gavin Reed arrives at the station AX401-643 which gravitates around Misereor, a curious planet. The crew has not given any news for weeks and the doctor fears that the crew, because of tense relations, have problems...


**Written for the 6th day of the DBH Rare Pairs Week with Crossover theme. This is a crossover with the Solaris novel, but you don't have to read it, or even to see the adaptations, the riddle side will be even more striking for you!**  
**That said, it's really one of my favorite novels and one of the most beautiful love stories, so if you love SF literature, I really encourage you to put it in your shelf.**

**By the way, I translated the story from French to English, so sorry for the mistakes.**

* * *

This mission was a mistake.

This first meeting proved it pretty well.

Professor Hank Anderson seemed as tired as usual, but the last time Gavin Reed had seen him, the old man was mostly downcast, his shoulders sagging and crushed by grief. Now, if the dark circles under his eyes still had that ashy color, Hank just seemed more nervous, maybe even more aggressive.

Near him, sitting on one of those steel chairs, quiet as a wise child, Caroline Phillips did not give even a glance to Dr. Reed, rather watching how her fingers looked when she crossed them one way or another. A trace of blue pen formed a neglected line near her thumb, and this curve seemed really fascinating compared to the psychologist.

Leo Manfred, for his part, was perhaps the only one who remained true to himself: slouched in his chair, he kept his arms crossed while one of his knees jerked at an annoyed rhythm, accentuating his bored look. A true teenager of thirty years.

"You have nothing to say?" Gavin's question had just broken the silence. "You no longer answer messages from the base, you no longer send report, I got lumbered with that fucking trip to come over here and you've nothing to say?!"

He hit the edge of the steel table. The blow produced a hollow sound.

"Well, we didn't ask you to come over here, Reed," Hank said. The veins at the corners of his eyes seemed to bleed. His eyelids were a little swollen also. Did the professor have been crying again lately?

"I didn't come because I wanted to, Anderson: I was called because you're not doing your job anymore. The base is worrying."

Professor Anderson shrugged, yet he did not refute the psychologist: all had indeed neglected the job, lately—

Through one of the windows, Gavin could see a strange horizon where, in the darkness of the universe, shapes rippled the same way polar auroras did. Misereor. This planet with shades of purple and indigo intrigued for so many years. The icy ghosts that emanated from its perfect sphere, the shining cherry black glints, the dull constellations embedded in its surface, the fluid streamers that froze in silver filaments— Misereor was beyond comprehension.

It was the spaceship Mermaid K56 that had discovered this absurd and uninhabited world one hundred and thirty years ago. The planet, both icy and warm, both dark and luminous, had guided their path while the spaceship was in distress, and Misereor had brought a conclusion to their wanderings, helping them navigate the ocean of void to lead to home.

It was actually what the team had insured.

A month after their return, the survivors of the space castaway had committed suicide.

No note had accompanied their gesture, but the witnesses remembered faded smiles and desperate laughter since they had returned to Earth. States of madness and suicides that astronauts have been trying to explain for more than a century.

It had been necessary, in a first time, to locate this distant planet, then, to improve technology to be able to remain near Misereor and to carry out research in its melancholic skies.

The team aboard the AX401-643 station, composed of professors Caroline Phillips and Hank Anderson, technician Leo Manfred and six androids to assist them, aimed to uncover Misereor's misteries, to understand what had happened.

They had arrived three months ago and communicated regularly with the base, transmitting surprising photos, sharing data still at the observation stage— Work started seriously, but since last month, radio silence had cut off exchanges, suspending the mission 'Misereor'.

The psychologist Gavin Reed was sent to check that no member of the crew had fallen into the same depressed state as the first pioneers. So the doctor scrutinized every gesture, every tick— still, he was the witness of no madness. The three scientists simply ignored each other.

How could they work on Misereor if they did not even speak to each other?

With a sigh, Leo got up and started heading for the exit.

"Manfred, you sit the fuck down," Gavin ordered.

"I've things to do, _doctor_."

Caroline rose in her turn, multiplying the psychologist's anger who repeated the order for her too, but the scientist had become deaf all of a sudden.

Only Hank remained, insensitive to what had happened.

The doctor Reed was not known for his patience and, clenched fists, he grumbled:

"Fuck—"

The old professor smirked, mocking and compassionate at the same time.

"Why are you smiling like that, Anderson?"

"Because I just pity you, Reed, because you'll be useless." Hank rose in his turn. "Just like you were after Cole's death."

For Gavin, this replica had the effect of a punch in the stomach, resulting in a cold electric shock along his back.

"Hank, I'm here because—"

"Just like I wasn't able to help you with Connor either. I think you'd better leave, Gavin."

The chills continued to shake Gavin's shoulders.

He felt so bad that he would gladly have followed the professor's advice, but it was not a courtesy call.

* * *

Most doors were locked. Gavin could pass and pass again his official badge; the diodes remained red, burning with refusal. He kicked into the white plastic door.

At least he had his own cabin and when he returned, his belongings had not moved, victims of no joke. Despite the crew's curious behavior, no one intended to persecute him to bring his departure forward.

The doctor did not know how many months he should stay. Four? Six? Twenty?

He decided for a five-month delay, which was already too much by the way, and if he did not get any results, he would leave and the base would have to send someone else. Abandoning earlier was not possible.

His cabin was a neutral room equipped with a rather large bed, a transparent desk with a professional computer and all the equipment needed, a cupboard, also in glass, like two chairs made of the same matter. Fortunately, each cabin had its own bathroom.

The room was not cold: the heating system worked perfectly, yet Gavin shuddered as Misereor's glimmers gleamed on the surfaces, imitating marine reflections. These ghosts of light seemed almost alive every time they touched the surroundings with compassion.

Going to the office asked some courage of him. His legs were paralyzed, like when, at the age of seven, his mother had asked him to go down to the cellar and he had been unable to do so, petrified by the dark void, although Mrs. Reed had assured him that a staircase existed in this nothingness. At the time, his imagination got carried away and gave birth to a spectrum, and now it started again.

"What a dumbass—" the doctor scolded himself, before advancing to sit in front of the computer.

Gavin wondered why he had been assigned this task: he did not really get along with Leo Manfred, Professor Anderson was a former patient whom he had failed to help, while Caroline Phillips— well, that was not even worth talking about.

The psychologist started the recording program and placed his earpiece to make his first report.

"September 23, 2136, 9:32 pm.

I arrived on station AX401-643 for two hours. The team, formed by professors Anderson and Phillips, and the technician Manfred, was aware of my arrival but no one came to welcome me. Androids too were absent. I wandered down the halls for half an hour before seeing Professor Anderson."

He sighed, remembering the hostile faces.

"The crew seems exhausted. But there's also a— kind of excessive nonchalance. I wonder if some people have episodes of delirium. In any case, they don't suffer from cabin fever since they seem to be mostly ignoring each other." _At least I didn't arrive when they were skinning them alive in the corridors._

Gavin unhooked his headset and put it on the bedside table, frowning. He had to record all the details, keep no secrets.

Yet he could not say that he had heard child laughs as he entered the station. It was ridiculous.

* * *

When Gavin opened his eyes, the alarm clock showed it was 8 hours and 8 minutes in the morning. The white sheets were tainted by the horizon of a golden rose, a fairy and cold dawn at the same time. Around Misereor, blue became a color of passion and red echoed stoicism.

The psychologist would need time to get used to these paradoxical impressions.

He put on a white t-shirt, a little too long but comfortable, which fell on his underpants. At least, even here, the white remained a neutral color, matching the nudity of the corridors which were, unsurprisingly, empty. Gavin almost wanted to clap his hands and yell 'move your ass, get up!' but it was so quiet that it annihilated any desire to joke.

While imagining he was the only one standing, Gavin saw Caroline's silhouette in the kitchen. She wore a long floral dress that changed from her lab coats, and the patches moved slowly as she danced from one foot to the other.

The psychologist was not dreaming: Professor Phillips was humming like a young wife enjoying a moment of calm.

The head with long brown hair was leaning over a tray where two smoking cups of coffee. The ceramic, with its mirror effect, reflected the toast of bread placed on a nearby plate. Always dreamy, Caroline was buttering them one by one with precious attention.

This miracle being fragile, Gavin preferred to approach with caution.

Once he was close enough, he asked:

"_Two_ cups of coffee? For Anderson or Manfred?"

Caroline screamed. The round knife fell on the worktop, tinkling and ricocheting as the slice of bread slammed onto the tray with a muffled sound. The fear turned into anger:

"Reed! You—"

Nails planted in the palms, the scientist tried to pull herself together.

She turned her back, swallowing air in great breaths, her lungs mimicking blacksmith's bellows. Despite her trembling hands, Caroline gathered everything she needed on the set and stepped out of the kitchen. She would finish her preparation elsewhere.

Caroline Phillips had always been a nervous woman that did not contain her emotions. Besides, she was so easily offended that her colleagues knew her for that, but this fiery character was frozen after her husband's death, John, and since that mouth had stopped smiling, confining bright teeth in the shadow of a serious pout.

Gavin thought he should have told her about her daughter: the mention of Emma would have moved this widow who struggled to revive life. Maybe she would start talking to him then?

_Of course not. We're like enemies._

He was now the last intruder in the kitchen, and this loneliness emphasized a detail that left him perplexed: where were the androids assistants?

* * *

"September 24th, 2136, 8:38 am.

I only met Professor Phillips. I don't know if the others are sleeping, or if they're hiding in their cabin— they could be doing a space ride, I wouldn't know a thing about it." He crossed his hands behind his neck and the back of the chair, articulated, followed the movement of his back stretching. "Caroline Phillips seemed in a good mood. Well, until she sees me, even if I don't know it was me or the fact that she was no longer alone— I wish I could observe Anderson and Manfred without them knowing it, to see if they behave like kids on a Sunday afternoon as long as there's nobody around—"

Gavin sighed and closed his eyes. This corner of the universe was too strange and he wanted to get away from it. Even for a few minutes.

Footsteps sounded behind the door and the doctor jumped. It was the light strides of a child, short and lively, that had just pounded the floor of the corridor. He was sure of it.

Gavin then rushed outside, but too late: a few meters away, one of the doors slid shut, leaving no clue.

By dint of drumming at the door and insisting, the panel ended up opening on Hank. The professor was dressed up and seemed perfectly awake, contradicting his gruff voice saying:

"What do you want, Reed? I can't enjoy lie-in anymore? That's why they sent you?"

"Sorry to get you out of bed," Gavin said, "I heard some noise."

"And so what? Noise bothers you, now?"

"I heard a child."

No emotion passed through Hank's face, but under his gray beard, Gavin thought he saw rosy skin with laughter. Gavin could not remember when he had heard Hank laugh last time.

Why did his eyes still wet with tears?

Slowly, the professor answered:

"There are no children on board, Reed."

"I know, Anderson! That's why—"

The door had just closed, leaving the psychologist, alone in the corridor, who was furious again.

"Where are the androids? What's going on aboard this fucking station?!"

Gavin's voice was loud, but no one answered him.

* * *

"September 26, 2136, 2:18 pm.

I found the androids. The six of them. They were not hidden, they're not disabled, they're—" Gavin got up and started pacing his room, still feeling perplexed. "They're in a lethargic state. Well, if it's possible for an android to feel that way— I went down to the basement where I had access to more areas, and the androids were in a kind of room, sitting on chairs placed in a circle. Six fucking Knights of the Round Table without their fucking table!" A chill ran down his back: he felt this unpleasant fear since he found the SP400s sitting in a circle, knees touching each other, staring blankly. "I tried to wake them up, but they didn't react. Their LED is still lit— one of them has lost a hand— it looks like it was ripped off—"

And of course, no one on board had answered his questions: each member continued to confine himself to his quarters, secret and isolated.

The reports would only be received in a few days, and in the meantime, Gavin's presence was reduced a transparent intruder who did not arouse any reaction, not even from the machines.

While putting a tracksuit, the psychologist came to the obvious that no one on board was trying to unravel Misereor's mysteries. Maybe they had come to be afraid of it? This sphere so immense, so immense, its varied lights glowing so much even the stars had to bow to such grace.

And to think that men's ancestors found the moon fascinating and formidable.

What legends would have been written around Misereor if they had been able to see it even for once?

Gavin placed his earphones to accompany his jogging of some music. The hallway of this floor was a huge circle of two miles in circumference, flat and ideal terrain even if the decor was quite repetitive. The music would serve as fuel, while the pedometer on his belt would give him the exact distance made.

With his stature, Dr. Reed was closer to the policeman, by the way, he recognized that it was a career that would have pleased him, but androids had invaded the police stations since some decades as they applied the laws with more rigidity. The field of human psychology was, luckily, a sector where humanoid machines were few.

The music was deafening, yet Gavin perceived the silence of the station.

He was haunted by this mechanical meeting he had surprised, wondering again and again who had placed them like this. Did they put themselves away? Did a member of the crew put them in the closet? What had happened to this wrenched hand?

It was strange: despite technological progress, despite the perfect illusion of human appearance, when a machine was static, its nature became obvious.

Gavin was happy that he had never seen the android he was close to in this state—

It had been nearly five minutes since he was running, just starting to warm up, when one of the airlocks, the one of the turn in which he was engaging, became active. The neon that framed the opening lights on a green color, giving access to the visitor.

_What visitor?_ No visitors were expected.

The door began to open, holding back the curious psychologist.

A man was standing at the entrance. He wore a black elastane jumpsuit, the sober uniform of technical androids, and the straps and fasteners were reminiscent of the field of space engineering, as were the logos sewn on the sleeve: NASA, Tesla Inc., CyberLife— The android was removing his dark gloves while the doors were fully open.

Gavin froze when he saw the model on the torso of the visitor: a 'RK800' written in white. Then he recognized the square jaw that contrasted with softer lips, the dark eyes, the blue LED, the lock of hair that fell on the forehead—

The robot tilted his head to the side when he saw the man, gauging him absently, then he pulled himself together, remembering that he should introduce himself:

"Hello. My name is Connor, I'm a CyberLife android to assist you."

Gavin would have liked to answer the RK800, but he felt a sense of anger explode in his chest, preventing him from uttering a single word.

* * *

"It's September 26, 2136, you already know it, and no one cares what time it is," Gavin fumed, cursing the fact that this message would take several days to arrive. "Why did you send him here? Why did you send a similar android to Connor? You bastards are completely sick! You know that Caroline Phillips is here!" _And you know that I'm here too._

Connor was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his lap. His gloves were on the night table next door. Misereor's volutes were flattering his figure, hardly daring to touch this insensitive statue.

In fact, the android was trying to look detached: he did not know how he knew it, but an element of his memory remembered that this man had rages of storms, as unappeasable as those who burst during the summer. Calm always came back; it only needed a little patience.

After resting the earpiece, Gavin approached Connor. Surrounded by golden shadows, the android looked like a specter that came to haunt his room.

"Connor. Do you remember what happened?"

"When, Dr. Reed?"

"You remember me?"

Connor's LED went yellow for a moment. His memory gave the impression of a puzzle rebuilding little by little. The sudden smile that appeared on his face gripped Gavin's heart.

"Dr. Reed— sorry, I mean, Gavin, you're a clinical psychologist. On February 3, 2135, you asked me to call you by your first name." The psychologist nodded. It was true. "Do I still have this permission or do we have to change?"

"It depends on which Connor you are."

Connor did not understand this answer.

Through a few questions, Gavin Reed tested the android's memory who always answered correctly. Docile, he gave the exact dates of certain events, the most important being October 17, 2133, the date of the RK800's arrival in order to be associated with Professor Hank Anderson, a few months after the death of the young Cole Anderson.

After this tragedy, Anderson had become a patient of Dr. Reed, and his condition required many sessions, otherwise the scientist would have blown his skull before the fall. And these interviews had allowed Dr. Reed to meet the mechanical assistant.

Gavin was initially hostile to the idea that a machine would become Hank's colleague: the grieving man had to be surrounded by living beings, not humanoid robots, technological feats or not.

But after several discussions with the RK800, the doctor had finally changed his mind.

"Do you remember our conversations?"

"Of course, I do. You kept testing my psychological programs, evaluating them to see if they were correct." They exchanged a shy smile. Gavin knelt in front of the android, standing on the edge of the mattress, staring at those dark eyes. He wanted to recognize them so much. "You thought I was stupid or late, but I impressed you."

"That's right, you did. I thought Anderson would feel bad if he worked with you, but you were finally more human than I had imagined. I was— really amazed."

The LED went red and Connor, to Gavin's surprise, sighed. The android moved his hand to his chest, himself amazed at what he had just done. Maybe a new reflex of a recent update.

A memory was important and Connor had to mention it:

"On December 22, 2135, there was a Christmas party, and you told me—"

Without realizing it, Gavin let his hand slip on the mattress to reach the android's leg.

"What did I tell you?"

"You told me you loved me."

Gavin lowered his faded look.

"Yeah. That's what I told you—"

Despite the prejudices he had had on the RK800, it took a few weeks for the psychologist to get closer to the android, before falling under his spell.

Was it shocking? They lived during the fucking twenty-second century! Although there were still tensions between machines and humans, many friendships had been formed and alliances had slid on flesh or mechanical fingers. There was nothing shocking about it.

Gavin remembered that evening. Floating garlands that dreamed of being authentic stars prevented one from seeing the ceiling of the huge hall that had been rented for the occasion. The bosses had even given in kitsch by only broadcasting Christmas carols, but at least they had not made fun at them about the champagne and Gavin had drunk several glasses. To be honest, the taste might have not been that good, but the alcohol had given him enough courage to get close to Connor who had stood back, watching the pace of the Professor Anderson's consumption.

Confident, Gavin had engaged the conversation, speaking mostly about people's relations in the room. Connor misinterpreted the doctor's intention and started talking about social psychology.

"No, we're not talking about work tonight," Gavin countered, warning the android who had apologized.

Gavin had a trip planned for the next day and it would take the rest of the week, then he would be on vacation for two weeks. A long time without seeing Connor again.

"I'll miss you."

"Really?"

"Why would be the point to lie?"

"I don't know. Maybe you've something to ask me?"

Connor had learned psychologist's humor, using it. This replica had been an opportunity for Gavin: yeah, he wanted to ask him something, if by any chance he would agree to spend an evening alone with a psychologist a bit angry but very attached to a 'certain tin can'?

The RK800 was surprised at first. Then, he had accepted with one of those smiles barely revealed.

And this evening had never happened.

"Do you remember December 29, 2135?"

Connor kept silence for a moment and, perplexed, said:

"I thought it was December 25, 2135. But you said on the phone that we were on September 26, 2136—"

The man's hand moved away sharply, straightening the barrier between the android and him.

If this robot sitting on the edge of the bed, right now, did not know what had happened after Christmas, then it was not the real Connor.

The RK800 stared out the window, watching the galaxy deep in the horizon. There were so many stars that even an artificial intelligence could not count them.

"Gavin, I don't know where we are."

"You don't know? But how did you arrive? Who sent you?"

"I don't know," Connor repeated, himself surprised by his ignorance, while his LED remained in a worried red. Gavin stared at him, unable to know if the android was lying or not. "What happened on December 29? Gavin, you look at me like I shouldn't be here."

"I look at you that way because you can't be here."

"You seem angry, like I did something wrong. Did I hurt you without wanting to?"

Androids memories could be transferred from one envelope to another, so why did Connor not remember the last ten months? Why did he not remember the blood that had stained his palms? Why did he not remember being disabled?

Was it Connor?

Damn, he looked like!

"No, Connor, you didn't do anything wrong—" The android would need support, so the psychologist sat by his side, ready to lend him a shoulder, to extend his hand. "You've been disabled, Connor. December 29th is— like the date of your death."

"I was not needed anymore?"

"You killed someone." The red LED became brighter and the android grabbed Gavin's hand, squeezing it before hearing the rest. "You killed John Phillips."

"Caroline Phillips' husband. Daniel's colleague."

"Exactly."

"Why did I kill him?"

"It was self-defense. If you remember, this guy was a horrible asshole and Daniel had his jaw shattered after a slight bug. I was not there the day you— well, I was traveling, but Anderson told me."

"John Phillips wanted to hurt me?"

"According to Anderson, he tried to break your jaw too. And you defended yourself. There was a long view and— you hit him with it. Several blows on the skull. He couldn't survive that."

His titanium skeleton seemed to melt in shock. Connor failed to swing forward, losing his balance, and he would have fallen to the ground if Gavin had not held him back.

The RK800 now understood: a violent android was always 'executed' and, often, its mechanical body was intended for recycling. How could he be here?

He lay down, curling up and resting his cheek against Gavin's thigh. In this posture, the weight that had appeared in his chest seemed less heavy. And as long as Gavin did not push him away, the buzz at his temples was bearable.

"I can't be here."

"I'm going to inquire, Connor. Maybe they've reactivated you, maybe they've changed their minds, maybe—" _maybe nothing at all._ A human life was more valuable since androids could be cloned, their memory being their vulnerable 'soul'. A mechanical hand that strikes a heart of flesh is an irreparable crime, while the opposite is less definitive.

"Connor. Caroline Phillips is on board." The android jerked. "Hey, Connor, I won't let anyone touch you. And they won't have the time: as soon as the opportunity arises, we leave. Together."

The crew could go nuts, he did not care: if Connor was back, Gavin would not make the same mistake by abandoning him again.

Connor felt the man's fingers slipping into his hair with soft love. His fingertips aimed for the LED. Gavin had this hope that under his contact, it would turn blue again.

"I promise you, Connor."

"Thank you, Gavin."

* * *

His fist might have hit Hank's cabin door about thirty times when it finally opened. The teacher did not even bother to ask the doctor what he wanted, just a glare.

"Your teammate's here," Gavin said.

Hank glanced over the psychologist's shoulder, not understanding. Gavin had advised Connor to stay in the room, dreading a meeting between the RK800 and Caroline Phillips.

"What teammate?"

"Connor. Did you forget that you worked with him for more than two years?"

"Connor doesn't exist anymore, Reed."

"And yet, he's on board."

It was the first time Hank showed surprise.

"It can't be— among all people, it must be him—"

"I know. He doesn't know who sent him, or what he came to do, but the guy who did it is a true piece of shit, especially with Phillips. As soon as I get back—"

A grin began to twist the commissure of the professor's lips, then it was a great burst of laughter, without joy.

"You don't get it, Reed! What I mean is that of all the people you knew, you brought an _android_! I expected it, but I didn't think it would really happen!"

Indeed, Gavin did not understand anything, except that he had the clear impression that Anderson was mocking him. He would have gladly sent his fist into that graying jaw just to shut him up.

"I didn't bring anyone, Anderson, stop telling bullshit!"

"Tell me, Reed: who was Connor for you?"

"Why the fuck do you care, Anderson?! It wasn't me who brought him in, I thought he was dead!"

"Did you see the shuttle? Did you receive any message warning that Connor was going to turn up?"

Now that Hank was pointing it out, Gavin realized he had not seen any shuttle. The airlock was activated, but there was no transfer between the outside and the inside. As if the RK800 had just appeared on the threshold.

"We knew about your coming, Reed: they're so picky about protocols that they never have sent some loafer for fun. Connor's coming wasn't planned."

"So you don't believe me?"

"I do believe you."

Hank remembered his doctor's anger quite well when he heard that the RK800 had been turned off. The professor had done everything to make sure Connor was not disabled: he had lost a son and refused to lose a colleague who had become close, but justice decided otherwise and the androids of court had voted for the RK800's deactivation as soon as possible.

But Gavin's anger, just like his sadness, had been different, showing his affection.

The feelings he had for Connor were no secret to anyone.

"Reed, I told you to leave."

"Because you think I had a choice?"

"Did you not understand that was an advice? It's too late now."

"Too late for what?"

"I'll explain what's going on, doctor." Hank stepped out of the door to invite the psychologist in. "But before, I want you to promise me to be not afraid."

Without understanding, Gavin promised and entered Professor Anderson's cabin.

The warning had seemed absurd, yet Gavin put his hand on his mouth as he saw a boy kneeling on the floor near the desk, drawing on a work table.

"This is my son, Cole."

"Hank, it can't—"

"He came back twenty-three days ago."

The child lifted his head and Gavin could see that it was indeed his patient's son. Cole was dead two years ago: his coffin had descended into the bowels of the Detroit cemetery, far from his father. He could not be here, on a station near Misereor.

And yet, Cole was there, staring at him with his big green eyes.

Hank put his hand on his doctor's shoulder:

"Welcome to AX401-643, Reed. Welcome to Misereor."

* * *

Connor was leaning against one of the windows, identifying the planet that was pulsating beneath the station. Beyond that, there was only a deep, velvety emptiness, studded with silvery life and gleaming with cold hope. They were real stars, different from those of his last memory at this festive evening.

The warm sensation that had spread through his circuits when he had said yes to Gavin still seemed to be circulating, as if it had never disappeared.

The RK800 did not understand what was happening.

And then, there was that hiccup that had crossed his trachea, that sigh that had swelled in his throat. The android did not have lungs and this reaction was therefore impossible.

The door opened and Gavin entered, livid. He seemed as lost as him.

"Gavin?"

"Connor, does your database contain any information about Misereor?"

"Yes, it does. Misereor is a planet with a radius of 97,972 miles, it's the eighth planet of the solar system Abyss, one of the largest discovered by man until today. The sorts of ghosts around would be perhaps a new form of rings and specific to Misereor because seen nowhere else."

Gavin invited him to sit on the bed: he needed to get away from this mystical view. These famous specters managed to cross the windows, floating like incense, clinging to the walls, the silhouettes, kissing the surfaces with lips of vapors.

Connor sat cross-legged in front of Gavin, leaving his hands in his.

"The crew on board would have made other discoveries about these specters, like you said— they might be— 'sensitive', able to understand human language, able to sound the mind. Fuck, I feel so stupid saying that, but those are Anderson's words—"

"I think I can understand, Gavin."

"Misereor would be able to probe memories. Those things, there," Gavin pointed to the volutes, "touched me as soon as I arrived, found fragments, and felt that— I had lost someone dear."

In silence, Connor listened, ready to hear any theory.

Face to face, Gavin could observe him, recognizing the android's habits. This way to put his head to the side, to triturate his hands, to lower this sometimes lost gaze. Gavin inspected him, feeling affection reborn in his heart as he rediscovered every detail.

He still loved him.

He just needed to be sure it was the same Connor before he could bend over and kiss him.

"This planet brings back dead people."

"I'm an android, Gavin, I can be duplicated, maybe CyberLife made me from the old—"

"No," _Connor shouldn't speak of 'old' model. There's no old model._ "Nobody's aware of this ability; the crew of the station has kept the secret. _I_ brought you back, Connor."

Connor froze and, with a sudden movement, lifted his palms to the height of his eyes, inspecting them.

"So I'm not—"

"Anderson got his son back. He explained to me that Manfred's father is the one who came back to discuss unspoken things. As for Phillips—"

"Her husband is alive again."

"Yes."

The android felt his heart begin to bump.

"And I'm your ghost."

It was surprising, but the android started crying. His hands clenched in trembling fists and he tried to contain the jolts by pressing them against his chest. Again, a hiccup choked him and Connor began to be scared. The emotions he felt were new and piercing.

"Among all the people you knew, you brought an android back."

"You're the person I missed the most, the one I wanted to see again."

"But I'm not Connor!"

Gavin grabbed the wrists, still shaking, getting closer.

"You're Connor. You're not a new mod—"

"I'm another Connor, based on the one that was disabled last December. I'm a kind of absurd creation!"

How one knows if reincarnation was possible?

"I don't know for sure if you're Connor," Gavin admitted after a pause, "but I want to believe it. When a person dies, there are always some fools who say 'he will live in your heart, in your memory' and all kinds of bullshit alike— but maybe this planet is able to do that? Maybe it made you come back— even in 2136, death is still a mystery, so I don't know, if it's, it's—"

"I can't be Connor, if I was, I'd remember my death. Why do I miss memories?"

"Because Misereor made you from my memories, and since I wasn't there when you were judged, this part doesn't exist anymore—"

"And then, I'm not the one you miss the most. I'm just a kind of— ghost."

Gavin let his palms go up to the android's jaw. He was the same. Gavin had never had the chance to touch him that way, yet under the fingers, he could feel the wet plastic.

"You're Connor. Androids have the advantage of being able to go from one envelope to another, whether you've the same body or not, it doesn't matter, it's just like you—"

His words were getting entangled and he was overtaken by the situation, as the robot was overtaken too.

If he did not know what to say, he knew at least what to do.

Gavin leaned forward so his mouth touched Connor's cheek. A tear fell to the top of his lips, but none followed, leaving the way open for a second kiss, higher.

"You're the only person I wanted to see again, Connor. All these memories continued to haunt me for several months, I couldn't get better." These moments had remained deep in him, sweet and peaceful, but insufficient, poisoning him with regret. "I love you, Connor, that's why I know it's you. You're not another RK800, you're the one to whom I asked for this evening between us."

The tremors in the arms subsided and finally disappeared. Connor put his wrists on either side of Gavin's neck. Eyes closed, he recorded the words that resembled those that were so recent in his memory.

And if the machines could resuscitate other than by a computer transfer?

He really wanted to believe it.

Eyelids still closed, Connor stretched slowly. It was odd: the lying posture made him feel better, as if his blue muscles could finally get some rest, as if his back was supple in contact with the mattress.

The neck trapped against the pillow, Connor allowed Gavin to dominate him. The jeans rubbed against the elastane, one knee hit another and both mouths met. The hug around his neck tightened.

Real or not, this existence may have been worthwhile.

"I thought I'd see you again three weeks later, and I had to wait ten fucking months." Under his chest, Gavin felt Connor's one up slightly. He leaned his stomach against his. The breathing effect was impressive as it seemed real. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Gavin."

They still exchanged memories that matched each time, and Connor always had his point of view: if this being was born of stars and dreams, he still had his own perception, his opinions— He was a person in his own right, not a smooth projection of what Gavin had preserved in his memory.

Now that he had found Connor again, Gavin did not get tired of kissing him.

He had ten long months to catch up with his android to reassure, to console.

* * *

Just like for the evening of his arrival, Leo, Caroline and Hank were sitting with Gavin. One detail, however, was changing: all eyes were on the psychologist. The latter had even the audacity to serve himself a coffee.

"So, doctor," Leo smirked, "have you been visited too?"

Hank contracted his jaw: he had not said a word about the identity of Gavin's ghost.

The nerves of the psychologist were raw and this grin exacerbated his mood.

"Yeah, Manfred. He's less old than your visitor anyway." Leo became livid. 'The role of daddy's boy suits you, by the way."

"Shut up!"

Professor Anderson called them to order, then invited Gavin to speak again, more calmly.

"Phillips, I know your husband's back. I don't know if he's less stupid than before, but if he approaches my cabin, if he approaches Connor, the next blows over his skull will be made by me."

"That's— Connor? Your ghost?"

"It's not a ghost, it's just Connor." Gavin thought Caroline Phillips would be more terrified, but her face was closed. "Anyway, we'll leave. It'll avoid conflicts."

Leo laughed:

"You won't be able to leave, Reed. Well, _you_ can leave, you're free to reach the airlock whenever you want, but Connor has to stay here."

"What do you mean?"

"Misereor delves into our memories and our sorrows to bring back our dead," Hank explained, avoiding the word 'entities', "but the further the distance between the station and the planet, the more people find themselves feeling bad and— disappear again. We've already tried."

Gavin then understood the case of Mermaid K56.

"The crew lived the same thing as us, they tried to leave but experienced a second mourning— They couldn't make a long expedition and with the same ease as today, so they had to leave and—"

"And they committed suicide, too unhappy to live a new mourning." The scientist finished. "Don't even try to move the station, Reed. If you take my son away, I'll kill you."

In the morning when Cole Anderson's silhouette had appeared in the room, a few feet from the bed, Hank had thought he had reached the bottom of madness.

The boy had been in the same confused state as Connor: his palms pressed against the windows, he had looked at Misereor as a maternal figure moving away. Then he began to scrutinize the gray ceiling so high, the room so bare where the colors were rare when the caresses of Misereor were absent, and finally, his father, so different from his memories.

Hank started crying when Cole uttered a terrified cry. The child had tried to call him 'dad', but this man was too pale, too sad, too old: a foggy ogre had replaced his proud, intelligent, strong father.

His fears had subsided only when Hank had raised him in his arms. When the shaggy hairs of this beard had met the round cheek, Cole laughed, protesting.

"You're prickly, daddy!"

Hank would not lose his son again; it was out of the question.

"Even if Connor was killed, he would come back," Leo said, "just as you won't be able to kill John forever."

"What do you mean?"

Without any shame, the technician explained his meeting with his father.

Leo was paralyzed with fear when he recognized the sound of the wheels of the chair on the linoleum, that horrible sinuous slip barely audible, but which had frozen him. The son had turned to face Carl Manfred, surprised by this parchment skin, that shining look under those frowning eyebrows. All these traits of the father had not changed when he had died five years ago, but these years had disappeared.

Leo had closed his eyes and put his hand on his face: it was the first time he had been hallucinated. Not once he had confused the silhouette of a stranger in a wheelchair with his father, not once he thought he heard the brush sliding on the canvas when the tools were stored in a box, not only once he had imagined to smell the aggressive smell of varnish— and now he was facing a perfect mirage.

Despite technology, science and progress made by humanity, Leo had reacted like a primitive man, fear making him violent. With a stab, he had discovered that the mirage could bleed. The pain expressed by the old man seemed genuine.

At the sight of the waves that flowed, Leo grimaced, nauseated with the rancor that filled his stomach for so long. His father had been buried five years earlier: the man he had just stabbed could not be Carl Manfred. Nevertheless, the hoarse voice that had asked for pity was the same as the father's.

After several blows, after several endless minutes, the ghost of flesh had made his last gasp. Carl Manfred had died for the second time.

Leo really thought he was going crazy two days later when the wheels slid on the kitchen's linoleum again. His father had obviously forgotten his two deaths, plunged again into the same state of confusion as the first time.

Instead of becoming brutal, Leo started crying while kneeling. He had asked this ghost 'why?', why did he come back to haunt him? Carl understood the question differently and, sheepishly, he replied:

"Because I'm a poor idiot, son, I was the worst father in history—"

It was not a mirage: it was Carl Manfred.

At first, since Leo had longed for this redemption, he imagined being the source of this apparition, without suspecting for a moment that Misereor was at the origin of this miracle, and it was only after learning the return of Cole and John that the crew understood the surprising power of this already fascinating planet.

"You won't be able to leave Misereor with Connor, Reed," Leo repeated, "but at least you won't lose him again."

Gavin then asked himself a question: if John tackled him instead of attacking the android, would he come back thanks to Connor?

It was better to not take the risk—

* * *

The horizon frozen of indigo had returned.

In his back, Connor could hear the stylus sliding on the surface of the tablet, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the shadows of his elongated body and of Gavin, sitting behind him, thrown by the bedside lamp.

While the psychologist had talked with the rest of the crew, a strange numbness had seized the robot. His eyelids had kept closing on their own and his jaw had been reluctant to move further. It was a state he did not know.

And then, a succession of vague and diluted memories.

This sleep mode was different from the others, deeper, stranger too.

How much time had passed?

"Gavin. I remember something else."

The doctor stopped writing, waiting for the rest.

"I was in a bathroom. In the shower. The tile in the room was slate gray. A black cat was sleeping on a white wooden laundry bin. The shower had big windows, so he was not bothered by the water. I think it was your place."

"Why?"

"Because you came right after."

Gavin put the notebook and stylus beside and rested on one elbow, watching the still back of the android.

"What happened afterwards is quite embarrassing to explain."

"Hey, now that you've started, you've no choice."

"It's true."

Connor hesitated to lie on his back. Under the sheet, his skin still imagined the furrows of hot water running. "You undressed and came underwater with me. You started by kissing my neck," he pointed to where his skin had recorded the kisses, "you also took me in your arms," if he moved, the sheet could imitate the hugs evoked. "You hugged me so tightly, Gavin, that I thought you were going to lift me up."

"That's what I did?"

"You don't remember?"

"Tell me anyway."

Connor laughed, flipping over to try to look daggers at him. Without much success.

As if to encourage him, Gavin turned off the light and Misereor began to light the room like a lavender full moon.

An absurd thought emerged in the android's programs, something that evoked a paradise for machines. It might have been ridiculous, but since he was supposed to be dead, there was an ounce of logic in this hypothesis, right?

"No, you didn't lift me up," the android explained, feeling under the sheets Gavin's arms that embraced him. His chest was surrounded, but it was his heart that was hugged. "We kissed for long minutes, and then, you knelt in front of me— But you should remember now?"

Embarrassed, Gavin admitted that he did not:

"Connor, I'd like to remember, believe me, but it's not possible: you've never been to my place. We never did anything. We didn't have the time. From the description, it could be my bathroom with my cat, yeah, but—"

The LED went yellow and the android was suddenly ashamed. A blush burned his cheeks, making him discover a new sensation, and it was particularly unpleasant.

"If it wasn't a memory, what was it?"

"A dream, I'd say, that borrowed elements of my memory."

"Androids don't dream, Gavin."

"A fantasy then?"

"I didn't control what was happening. And it was too— real for a simple exercise in imagination—"

Gavin put his hand on Connor's chest, where a thirium pump had to beat. He lifted the white t-shirt to reveal the android's skin. There were the lines that marked the electrical circuits, there was a heartbeat that came knocking under the surface— but what if it was a real heart?

His fingers sank in search of an opening, but Connor protested:

"You hurt me."

"Sorry, I was looking for the opening for the thirium pump."

"Why do you want to access it?"

"I want to check something."

Connor sighed.

"You, humans, are _so_ good with technology— let me do it," his own fingers positioned themselves on his chest. "It's like branching, you never know which way it is."

"Tell me when you stop making fun of me."

"You'll be old for a long time."

Connor activated the opening and, seeing what was in his chest, Gavin recoiled sharply. Even the android was surprised.

In the hollow was hung a mechanical heart, but instead of being blue, it was dark red. The muscle seemed to be flesh and metal, a perfect blend of two incompatible materials.

This was not the most surprising, however: in the bowels of the machine, nebulae replaced cables, biocomponents and organs. The RK800 was as incomplete, and nothingness had dug its nest in his being.

With caution, Gavin approached his fingers. He first brushed the edge and a bloody liquid stained his skin.

"Do you feel pain?"

"No, I don't," whispered Connor, fascinated as well.

When his fingers approached the miniature stars, cold enveloped his hand as if he had plunged it into a stream in winter, but if he touched the heart and the normal elements, some human warmth respond to his contact.

His palm married the heart and the beat became drier and faster.

"It's like you're made of flesh and void."

Connor swallowed. He was no longer a machine. In fact, he did not know what exactly he had become.

"Misereor never had to create machines, so it tried to do as it could, based on your human appearance," Gavin hazarded, "you're— a mix, I'd say. Machine and human at the same time. That's why you breathe, sleep, dream with some of my memories, and your programs still preserved."

Connor did not dare to touch his own material and he asked Gavin to withdraw his hand so he could close his stomach. The liquid, that was still staining the doctor's fingers, looked like blood, but it was oilier: the thirium's texture with the color of human life.

"That's why you can't leave Misereor: you can't live if you're too far away from its ghosts."

To kidnap the resurrected ones was to tear them away from their source, to deprive them of their creator.

"When you leave, I won't be able follow you."

This reality pierced both of them. Connor moved away quickly from Gavin, left the bed while rubbing his arms.

"Why is this planet doing that? Why does it bring us back?"

His questions were directed at the psychologist as well as the nothingness observable from the windows. The scrolls around Misereor seemed to sign messages of peace as the gestures were so slow.

"It may be trying to manipulate us," Gavin suggested, "or, out of compassion, it wants to give us another chance."

"It might want you to stay around it. The closest planet to Misereor is over 510 millions miles away, it's barely visible from here."

The space looked like a lonely place where everything seemed out of reach. Even on Earth the stars did not seem so inaccessible. For a fraction of a second, just with the idea of Gavin's departure, Connor understood Misereor and the nothingness in his bowels seemed to grow like a tide of emptiness.

If Gavin left, he would let himself be killed by John Phillips. This time, he would not defend himself and he would be destroyed forever.

He felt Gavin take him in his arms and his grip seemed stronger than the one of space. It was also a lot warmer, denser.

"If I've to leave, Connor, it'll only if I can bring you back with me. I suspect Anderson and the others to work on this possibility; the two professors will never leave their ghost behind them."

The possibility of opening the android without hurting him was an opportunity that others did not have, perhaps by analyzing the material of which it was composed in part could put scientists on the track.

This promise relieved Connor who put his neck on the shoulder of his partner.

"Do I function as a human being, you think?"

"You're part human, it's undeniable, so yeah."

Gavin slid his fingers between Connor's fingers and squeezed them.

Under this comforting touch, the hybrid closed his eyes.

Androids had the opportunity to be reborn, adapting to new bodies when memory managed to escape death, but the RK800 had reached its last life by killing a man. Yet a planet and the affection of a man had given him the opportunity of a new existence, and as for his machine condition, if he died, he would come back as long as Gavin thought of him.

It was strange to depend on someone's affection. It was strange to be made of void and flesh.

At least the flesh was sensitive: Gavin's palms gave him sensations of warmth and happiness that would have been not as successful as those designed for androids.

"But otherwise, was it nice?"

"What was nice?"

"The dream."

"Oh," without him noticing, the android began to arch, his back marrying Gavin's stomach, "I truly loved it."

"I thought I heard you moan while you slept."

"I did? Really?"

"Nah, I'm making fun of you, sorry," he kissed him under the ear to be forgiven.

Connor tilted on his stomach, passing a leg over his partner's pelvis, his knee flattering the bump under the jeans.

"You haven't changed: you're still the same bastard."

The doctor burst out laughing: he had not always been very friendly with his patient's colleague, it was true.

"Now you understand why I want you to tell me more."

"Too bad for you, because I don't intend to do it."

They laughed until Gavin grabbed Connor's shoulders and pressed him to the mattress.

It was a pity that Gavin never lived this moment: the loving whispers, the kisses too numerous to be counted— but now, aboard this station, they had the opportunity to love each other.

"Tell me at least what was I doing? I'm waiting for your instructions."

"An android that has to give orders to a human? It might be heaven."

* * *

Androids are melancholy beings: their species has existed for more than a century and their freedom was obtained after fifty years. The most modern versions had the right to feel emotions, functions permitting them, but their place in society, because of their immortality and perfection, was not fixed yet.

They were both rejected and admired.

Aboard this station, it was be the same for the RK800, beloved by Gavin, hated by John.

In the kitchen, the sleeves of the suit tied around his waist and the t-shirt crumpled by the night before, Connor put down the glass of water he drank slowly. While making love with Gavin, he discovered other peculiarities: his throat had been damaged because of the many sighs, his muscles contracted with pleasure and he could ejaculate like a normal human.

Yet he was still thinking like a machine, able to calculate, to collect data— His blood, although red, possessed the oily texture of the thirium and never dried.

This hybridization made him more thoughtful than usual and Connor told himself that he would need time to accept this new existence.

"So Dr. Reed really brought back an android."

Connor froze as he recognized that voice.

He turned slowly to greet:

"Good morning, Professor Phillips."

"Hey, Connor."

The professor's jaw was contracted, but at least his skull was intact and, in the hair, there was no bone flush, so sticky blood.

The android did not display the same hostility: rather a certain reserve. He straightened his shoulders and managed to erase any expression from his face, unaware if this calmness would excite John's anger or discourage him.

The professor grabs the robot's wrist, lifting it up, confirming Connor's doubts: he would not be discouraged.

"When I think I died because of you."

"And yet, here you are, Professor Phillips."

"Like a vulgar ghost. If Caroline leaves this station, I'll disappear."

"You know that your wife will stay with you."

"And who looks after our daughter?"

Connor was ready to reply that he should have thought about it before trying to hurt him, but neither of them, in their murderous struggle, had imagined being face to face again on board this station.

"As soon as we know how to survive the distance between Misereor and us, Professor Phillips, we can leave and you'll see Emma again."

The grip around the wrist tightened.

"Breaking your arm could relieve me."

"I won't defend myself. Not this time."

Gavin had explained to Connor that one of the SP400s missed a hand, certainly ripped off by John Phillips. He tried to keep calm, as the androids did not feel the pain.

But he was no longer a simple android.

"Even if you defend yourself, Connor, I'll come back."

"So that will be our hobby? We'll each other, knowing that we'll come back anyway?"

A blade interposed between the two men, its sharp edge leaning in the hollow of the professor's elbow.

Gavin squeezed the handle with a barely trembling hand. His other hand, more protective, leaned gently against Connor'' chest, as if to encourage him to retreat despite the wrist still hold.

"What if I kill you, Phillips? I'd send your wife away, pretending she got some troubles in mind, that she need some rest, and you'd be unable to return."

They had never could get along: the doctor and the scientist had too strong characters. But this time, it was real hate.

"I wasn't there when you tried to destroy Connor, otherwise I'd have stopped him from smashing your cranial box to take care of it myself."

The fingers around the wrist relaxed, releasing the android that did not move back, showing no fear.

As in compromise, the blade moved away from the vein.

It was Professor Anderson who put an end to this dispute.

"What the fuck is happening?!"

"Nothing, Hank," Gavin threw the knife into the sink. "I was just reminding Professor Phillips of the rules aboard that ship."

The old man sighed.

"Phillips, the ship's big enough for all of us and I don't want to take any risk until we know how Misereor can bring you back," his colleague finally pulled away from the psychologist and android. "Leave them alone as they leave you alone, you and Caroline."

When Hank had asked Gavin to leave, it was to avoid him suffering on board the station. It was now too late and the professor measured how delicate the situation was between the two couples.

Peace should be maintained and, close to his son, Hank would not let anyone mess with the power of Misereor.

He would never have said it out loud, but if someone on board should leave, it would be Caroline, because despite Gavin's bad temper, Hank was much more attached to Connor than to John.

Before turning on his heels, he smiles at the android:

"It's good to see you again, Connor."

"I'm glad to be able to work with you again, Professor Anderson."

From now on, the RK800 felt supported.

When Gavin assured him that nothing would happen to him, Connor confirmed with a nod:

"I know, Gavin."

* * *

"October 3, 2136, 6:3 pm.

Dear base, don't worry anymore: the work to unravel Misereor's mysteries is progressing at a good pace. There're things we can't reveal to you right away, because they're still obscure to us too, but as a psychologist, I can assure you that no crewmember's suffering from depression."

_On the contrary_, Gavin would have added, looking at Connor who was working at the office, sitting more correctly than the psychologist who was slumped on the bed and recording his report.

Noting this brief silence, the android turned to the psychologist, questioning him with his eyes.

"I'd say the team's very happy to be working on this project."

Connor understood the meaning and smiled back at him.

"We'll need some time: this mission requires some attention and Professor Anderson, you know him, is very detail-oriented, which makes all these scientists hard-working in communications, but I'll make sure they respond to messages. In any case, no need to worry. Oh, by the way, about my message about Connor, it was a mistake, _mea culpa_, no need to dwell on it. You'll know the latest events and developments. Over."


End file.
